


Angel

by he_wants_to_write



Series: Larry Stylinson Fics [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Harry Styles Loves Louis Tomlinson, Hurt Harry Styles, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Dreams, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Larry Stylinson Is Real, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, M/M, Nature, Poetic, Short & Sweet, Soulmates Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Suicide Attempt, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24817276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/he_wants_to_write/pseuds/he_wants_to_write
Summary: Harry didn't believe in angels until a blue-eyed man begins to appears in his dreams, guiding him through surreal scenes of his own mind.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: Larry Stylinson Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899958
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	1. The Field

Why is the sky blue?

There's something beautiful about the way that this question floats in every child's mind. Yet, it's a mystery that haunts the adult's brain, and the reply may be in science books, but, they never really bother to look it up, to search for the answer; it's easier to accept a fact than to question it.

However, what happens when the question is twisted?

What is the reply when the interrogation is placed on the other end?

Why _isn't_ the sky blue?

It's the wandering words that's lingering the place where Harry is standing, or rather, lying.

He blinks his eyes open, lights creeping in the edges of his vision. He can feel his limbs extented over a soft surface, where something tickles his skin.

His fingers are twitching, desperately wanting to grasp onto reality, but he finds only damp strands of grass.

Grass. He's lying on the grass.

The sky is lilac, almost brightly purple above him.

_Where am I?_

He wonders, but it's no use for his situation. It doesn't clear any confusion as he sits up and his eyes takes in more viewing of the space he's in.

It's a field, clean and empty. The horizon is endless, infinite, and so is his disorientation. No trees, no structures, not a sign of civilization or any other kind of life in sight.

There's no sun, no clouds. Only a sheet of purple that fades into light lilac tones as it comes closer to the edge of the skyline.

His curls are dancing on his forehead, dancing with the force of the breeze. At least, the air exists in this world he's in. His long legs barely hold his weight as he attempts to stand up, succeeding around the third time only.

Harry screams.

His voice doesn't echo, the sound not finding anything to bounce off. He looks around desperately, but there's absolutely nothing around him as he spins; nothing but grass, clean breeze and purple skies.

Then, a sight of hope.

Another voice, smooth, high and gentle, echos from behind his frame.

"Hi."

Harry turns his body hurriedly, head snapping to the direction of the sound.

It's a man, standing straight and firm where Harry is struggling to maintain his balance.

He's wearing all white clothing, soft fabric that protects his tanned skin. His hair is chestnut-colored, brightly contrasted with the tones of the scene.

"Who are you?" Harry dares to ask. The man blinks and doesn't give him an immediate reply. "Where am I?" He adds, and that sparks a reaction out of the unknown man, or creature.

"You should follow the wind." He advises simply. The breeze makes his fringe move, becoming messy over his carved features.

Harry frowns, unhappy with the answer. "How did you get here?"

"So many questions," The man says, and his feet move above the grass, circling around Harry's stunned frame in a carefree way. "I have one for you too. What's your name?"

Harry fixates his gaze on the man as he walks slowly around him. He notices that he has an accent, and that he's shorter than him. It's relieving, for a second. The man appears to offer no threat.

"Harry." He responds hesitantly.

The man hums contently at the reply. "Well, Harry, if you answer one of my questions, I'll answer one of yours. Seems like a fair trade?"

Harry gathers those words and his mind clicks in place, as he's quick to respond, "Yes."

The shorter man shrugs and shoots Harry a small grin, decorating his delicate expression. "It's your turn, then."

Harry doesn't waste any time. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere in your mind." The man replies, looking down at the grass. His bare feet are grazing the grass, and his small hands move up and his torso twitches from side to side, as if he's balancing on a string.

A silence settles between the men while Harry's brain is working quietly. He feels dizzy, finding nothing to look at but the other man's moving figure. He waits for him to shoot another question, but he doesn't, and so he states;

"Ask me something."

The man looks at him, amused. "Why should I do that?"

It's Harry's turn to grin then. "I don't know. But, you just asked me something, and I responded. It's my turn."

Harry feels the other man looking at his cheeks, exploring the dents of his dimples. The man smiles, looking down, and it's a pleasant sight for Harry's tired gaze. "Fair enough." He says simply.

"What is your name?" Harry requests, using the man's question.

The man glances up, as if looking for the answer in the lilac sky. "My name is Louis."

_Louis._

_Somewhere in your mind._

Harry stands confused, and the sight of Louis pacing around him, almost dancing, doesn't help at all.

"Follow the wind, Harry." He repeats.

So Harry does.

He takes the first step towards where his curls are being pulled by the breeze. It feels dense, the atmosphere around him, around _them._

At least, the grass is soft, and so is Louis' contented laughter behind him. Harry looks back, and the man stops pacing.

"You're not coming with me?"

Louis smirks. "You still owe me an answer."

Harry only then notices that the man's eyes are bright blue.

_Did you steal the blue in the sky and put it in your eyes?_

He hears a muffled sound, a quiet white noise, and when he looks behind him again, Louis is gone.


	2. The Sea

The wind carries Harry to the water.

An endless lake, an ocean, maybe. The liquid is crystal-clear, exposing the sand-filled bottom. It's haunting, the way he can see his toes clearly underneath the water.

His hair is still moving to a direction that crosses this sea.

_Do I have to swim across?_

He panics for a bit, his brain is barely holding his system together; he doesn't feel hunger, or thirst, and yet, he's physically tired after what feels like centuries seeing nothing but infinite horizons.

"Louis?" Harry attempts to call, his green eyes glancing around waitingly.

The man appears in the line where the water and the land meet. "Hi, Harry." He grins.

"Ask me a question." Harry says, tone demanding.

Louis remains quiet while he walks through the clean water, soaking the edges of his white pants. Harry is frustrated, watching the man's short legs cause ripples in the liquid, creating small waves that spread out towards his own feet.

"You're not searching deep enough." Louis states." The answers are as clear as this ocean. You just have to be brave and go in."

Harry glances through the space between him and Louis. He's circling him again, unhesitating. Louis is knee-deep in the deepening bottom, looking back at him.

Harry blinks. "I have to swim."

"Is that a question?" Louis mumbles, the surface of water breaking under him. The sand coats Harry's toes with the movements.

"That was a statement. You made a question. My turn." Harry points, impatient. "Where do I go next? I can't just walk through the sea."

Louis chuckles.

Harry is certain that Louis stole the blue of the water as well. Must be the reason why it's so transparent.

"Forward, Harry." The shorter man responds. "The answer to that is always forward."

Harry looks down where his feet are soaked.

_I have to drown._

So he does.

He steps _forward,_ the water growing colder. Louis is smiling again as he watches, and Harry continues to disturb the silence with his movements.

Shivers creep up the skin of his knees, his thighs, his stomach. When the water hits his chest, he closes his eyes, and there's nothing but darkness and Louis' voice guiding him.

"Forward." Louis repeats from somewhere around him.

The water hits his neck, surpassing his shoulders. The bottom is getting harder to reach, his breathing is growing desperate.

"Breathe." Louis' voice demands again.

So he does.

One deep inhale, and his senses are all submerged.

He's under, completely taken by the ocean, and he doesn't try to reach the surface, although it's only a few feet above him.

His oxygen is running out after a few seconds. He struggles to take more steps forward, as his limps get heavier and his lungs burn from the lack of air.

He feels something soft graze the palm of one of his hands.

Another hand, slim fingers intertwining with his long ones. He closes his grip, despite it taking all of his remaining strength, and laces the digits together.

_Louis._

It's Louis' hand, and his voice.

_"Open you eyes, Harry."_

Harry complies, and when he allows his eyelids to flutter open, he finds a bottomless sea, the center of a black hole. He's in the complete dark, with nothing but Louis' hand inside of his.

He tightens his grasp.

A spark appears from the empty.

It starts off as a single, small point of light, but it grows brighter and bigger by the second, coming closer and closer, until his air runs out, and the light takes him completely. 


	3. The Beach

Harry tightens his fingers. There's something soft and warm underneath his touch.

It's not Louis' hand.

It crumbles between his digits, humid and weak. It's sand. 

Harry opens his eyes, overwhelmed by the amount of light that invades his vision. His head aches, his hair is soaked, and his limbs are cold. His body feels heavy as he sits up, taking in the sights around him. 

He grins weakly, cheeks dirty with sand, covered in salt. Harry stands up, watching the dent that his body created on the smooth surface of the sand. 

He got washed up to the shore. 

_He made it._

The sky is still holding it's lilac tones, the color reflecting on the ocean's waves, coating the sounds of salty water crashing against itself. He glances around, and there's another endless extent of sand going forward.

_Forward._

_Louis._

"Louis!" Harry yells with intent, fighting with the noise coming from the sea. 

The smaller man appears behind him. "Hi, again." He smiles. Harry notices how his clothes are impeccable, clean and white and dry. His hair, his skin; everything is flawless, unlike Harry, whose clothes have been torn apart by the sea, there's gashes in the fabric of his shirt and the hem of his pants are completely unraveled. 

"We drowned." Harry states as soon as his green eyes find Louis' stable frame. 

"Did we?" Louis asks rhetorically. "We're here, alive." The man adds.

"I don't know what you mean by that." Harry mumbles. He finds himself walking to no specific direction, just moving away from the ocean. He feels confused, utterly bewildered, so much that he suddenly has to fight the urge to cry. "We just, walked right through the sea, going forward." He talked, not wanting to reach any point at all.

"Are you going to stop now?" Louis questions. 

Harry's eyes lit up at the opportunity to have another answer. "No, I'm not. Do I have a choice, anyways?" 

Louis grins. It's lovely, the way the way makes his hair bounce. "I'm afraid you don't." 

"Yeah, thought you would say that." Harry banters. _"Forward."_ He mutters to himself, annoyed, looking down at the beige, soft sand. 

"Aren't those so pretty?" He hear Louis express behind him. He turns around to find Louis' smaller frame crouched down, head down and gaze fixated on the sand by his bare feet.

Harry groans low in his throat, but approaches the man. He crouches too, and sees what Louis is referring to. "Seashells?" 

Louis chuckles. 

Harry doesn't. 

He reaches down to touch the small carapaces, their smooth calcium-formed structure. It's tanned, matching the color of Louis' soft skin, shining behind his delicate fingertips. He's never been this close to Louis before, to the point where he can see details on the man's features; the crinkles by his eyes, the fragile curve of his long eyelashes, the edges of his thin lips. 

"It always amazed me." Louis says. Harry is focused on the traces of his face still, while he talks. "How many little animals lived in here, for how many centuries? Which little creature was the first one to live inside this tiny thing? Which one will be the last?" 

_Animals._ Harry doesn't remember seeing any form of life, besides their own, and plants. Also, _centuries._ Harry also doesn't remember time existing in that universe. It feels like he's been on a journey for days, and there's no sight of night falling, or morning arriving. 

"I guess not even you have the answers to that." Harry comments, and Louis looks up from the shells in his palms. Their eyes meet, and Harry doesn't remember seeing blue anywhere but there, in Louis' eyes. 

"I don't." The man confirms with a smile. Harry grins back, for whatever reason. 

Louis stands up, holding the shells still, and Harry does too. He glances down at the shorter man when he offers the elements. "Here, take them. Put it in your pocket."

Harry opens up his hands. Louis gives him the objects tenderly. His touch is subtle, incredibly delicate. "I don't have any pockets."

The man tilts his head, looking up at Harry. "You don't need to." He closes Harry's hand, holding his fingers together. He can feel the carapaces inside his grip, clanking together, mushed between his skin. 

When Louis lets go of his hands, Harry opens his palms and looks down.

The seashells are gone, like magic, dissipated under his touch. 

"They're still there, don't worry." He hears Louis' soft voice say, but when he glances up again, the man isn't there. 

Harry finds himself alone with the invisible shells, the waves and the wet sand.

He begins to walk forward then. 

It's the only way. 


	4. The Desert

Harry's skin feels dry and painful. 

His feet feel raw, as he continues to pace across a skyline of sand, going forward. There's no visible sun above, but his skin is hot, his eyes are half-closed under a frown. 

The wind is growing stronger the more he continues to walk, more dense, concentrated. Harry is certain that his steps are provoking a storm, as if he's a threat to the ambient, a dangerous element that dares to cross the space.

He wants to cry again, but he's completely empty of moisture, although he doesn't feel thirsty at all. He feels like he's crumbling, his longs legs failing, the wind carrying him _forward._

He doesn't call Louis this time.

He sits on the sand, exhausted, and lets his head fall down. The wind is mixing with the sand, but he doesn't care, or he's giving up on the path he was advised to take.

_Why am I listening to him, anyways?_

He's questioning himself, and it makes him remember the game that Louis likes to play. 

_Stupid question game._

He needs answers, despite anything. He wants to understand. 

If he's in his somewhere in his mind, as Louis had replied back then, why does he feel totally out of control of his surroundings? Why is he lost? Why time doesn't pass, why is he not dying?

Too many questions, no reply, no end.

A sand storm is building behind him, but he doesn't move. There's nowhere to go, forward seems too far away to grasp, he's suddenly cold, despite the warmth of the dust underneath him. 

He doesn't call Louis.

But he appears, anyways. 

"Harry," He hears the voice calling, but makes no move to look to the direction of the sound. Louis' feet come into view, in front of his crouching body. Louis kneels before him, and that's when Harry looks up. 

Louis is as flawless as always, unfazed by the storm, untouched by the sand that stings Harry's eyes. Harry can't stand the forces of the nature around them, can't stand Louis' blue eyes towering over him softly. 

He lets his head fall in defeat.

Louis' arms wrap around his fragile frame then, protectively and warm. He leans into the embrace, resting his face against the man's clothed chest. 

Harry feels the sand trap them completely. He wants to scream again, the wind's whistle is too loud, but Louis' touch is too delicate. He would't dare to break the peace that's established inside the man's cradle. 

Louis feels real. He's not an illusion. 

_Is he an angel?_

Harry listens to Louis' voice, clear and unaffected by the storm; _"Did you know that sand is made of broken seashells?"_

Harry opens his palms, protected by the envelop of Louis' small body. There's nothing there. He grasps Louis' white shirt, and closes his eyes.


	5. The Woods

When Harry inhales again, the air isn't dry. 

It's the opposite; it's humid, it fills his lungs completely, it saturates his body with dense, pure oxygen. His limbs feel lighter then, and his grip in the other man's clothing releases slowly, after he feels like his surroundings aren't hostile any longer.

Everything is green. It's alive, and it's his favorite color. 

Tall trees and brightly- colored leafs are a part of the scene, substituting the endless horizon with an irregularity that he missed. There's no sound, other than their breathing, and the dry leafs that break apart underneath their feet.

Besides the green, there's white in front of him. _Louis._

His blue eyes are glancing around, taking the sights of nature in its purest form, as if he is amused by the viewing, too. Harry can't tear his gaze away from the man, his smaller hands still resting on his broad shoulders protectively. He doesn't look away until Louis looks at him.

"It matches your eyes." He says simply, his words followed by a grin. 

Harry doesn't say anything, standing up instead. He reaches down, offering Louis a hand, which he takes, and gets up on his feet too. 

Harry doesn't let go of his hand, then. 

Maybe it's an attachment that he just created, caused by the actions of the smaller man that just saved his life in a sand storm. 

Maybe, the sight of the beautiful woods makes him never want to be alone again. 

Louis is real. He's made of flesh, he's warm, although he doesn't show the effects of his journey, like Harry himself does. His pants are chewed up to the knees, and his hands must be rough and dry, but he brushes the concern aside, and doesn't let go of Louis' fingers.

Louis doesn't seem to want to let go, either.

He sighs, takes one look into Louis' blue eyes, and continues walking forward.

They come across tall roots, large leafs and bromeliads. It's a quiet walk, until Louis breaks it with his sweet voice; "You're not asking questions anymore."

"You won't give any answers, anyway." Harry retorts. 

"You're right." Louis confirms, his bare feet rising to avoid stepping on a patch of small, yellow flowers on their path. Harry bites his lips, fighting back a smile that threatens to appear. "But that doesn't mean you should stop trying to understand."

"I don't want to understand." Harry's grip tightens around Louis' fingers. He breathes deeply. The air is clean and pure. "I want out of this place."

"But, it's so beautiful." Louis points. The taller man can hear a smile in his tone.

He maintains his gaze in front of him. He believes that any sight of Louis now would make him weak on the knees, as he steps over roots covered in slippery moss. "Might as well stay here, then."

"That is giving up." Louis states, monotone. 

Harry bites his lip harder. He's slightly annoyed, his body is tired. "At least I'll be giving up in a beautiful place." 

"Don't say that." Louis voice wavers. Harry doesn't fight the urge to look aside then. Louis' frowning, and it's the first time that Harry sees any negative expression stamped in the man's features. He feels guilty for putting those emotions there. 

He squeezes Louis' hand in retaliation. Louis squeezes back. He sighs relieved. 

Louis grins again. "We still have a long way to go."

Harry blinks, almost stumbling over another root. "So, you're saying there's an end?"

He hears Louis' chuckle echoing through the trunks and the vines. "I'm glad the questions are back." 


	6. The River

They only break their linked hands once they reach the river.

Harry is stunned, relieved even, to see another sight of life that isn't stable and green. Small fishes are swimming erratically through the delicate course of the clean river, interrupted by invasive branches and leafs that eventually fall on the surface of the water. 

The taller man approaches the running water, crouching down at the edge and dipping his fingers in the cold liquid. Minuscule fishes come closer, giving small kisses to Harry's submerged digits. He chuckles, scaring the fishes away, and it makes him chuckle even louder.

He looks aside, and Louis is standing by the edge too, his bare feet drowning in the strand. 

"It's endless." Louis mumbles under his breath. Harry looks up. "The cycle of the water, the way it never stops."

"It always goes forward." Harry completes.

Louis glances down, smiling. "Like you."

"Like _us_."

Louis' smile leaves his expression then. Harry notices it, but doesn't say anything, and lets the river's sounds continue to echo uninterrupted. 

"We should keep going." The smaller man advises. "Follow the river."

So they do, pacing one behind the other on the edges of the flowing river. Harry is catching sights of fish and eventually, feathered creatures that come to feed off the small swimming creatures. He doesn't remember any birds back in the woods, not even chirps among the tall trees. However, he's glad that such animals decided to show up just now.

"Ask me a question." Harry breaks their silence.

Louis remains quiet for a moment, before a sighs echos, and then; "Why would I do that?"

"Because I asked you." Harry responds, shooting a winning grin towards the shorter man. Louis grins back. "Where do you came from?"

Louis' smile disappears at those words, too. 

Harry is growing frustrated by the amount of times that Louis is frowning and allowing negatives emotions to take over his features. He doesn't like it, it doesn't settle well in his gut. 

He stole all the blue, and kept it in his eyes. _Why would he ever be sad?_

"Think of me like the sand." Louis mutters.

Harry doesn't like the thought. Sand is rough, it itches his eyes and makes his skin dry. It's easy to lift and to cause a storm. It's where he was trapped, if it wasn't for Louis' saving embrace. 

He ponders quietly, and doesn't ask anything else.

_Sand is made of broken seashells._


	7. The Mountains

The land begins to tip on the last curve of the river.

It's growing more difficult to maintain a rhythm while walking, Harry's knees and legs becoming more tired and overworked as he continues, struggling to pace up the ground that's turning steep.

At least, Louis hasn't left yet, and forces Harry on his way up the mountain, with no more than a grasp to his large hand. 

Harry finds himself beginning to lose faith again. 

The wind is getting colder, the signs of other animals and plants are becoming scarce, only sharp rocks and dry gravel predominating their surroundings the more they go up.

Harry wants to let his body collapse the long way down, just so he can close his eyes and wake up in a different place, where he can be inside Louis' arms again, and feel completely safe. 

"Harry, you have to keep going, please." Louis pleads after Harry slips on a rock and groans in frustration and pain.

His knees are aching, the land is turning steep.

He makes the mistake of looking down.

There's smoke coming from down below, a grey, dense cloud taking over the spot that once was a beautiful forest with a coursing river. 

He has no choice, but to go up. Up and forward.

Louis is there beside him, completely unharmed and unaffected by the hostile environment. 

The cloud is coming closer to them, following up the mountain. Harry feels the familiar fear, the terrorizing sensation of being trapped. Like the sand storm.

"I'm not going to make it." Harry states, yelling against the empty of the rocks.

Louis shouts beside him. "Yes, you are!" His voice breaks, and that's when Harry glances aside. Louis is flawless. But his eyes are sad, grey, colorless. "You have to!"

_Where's the blue?_

The smoke is getting closer. His lungs are faltering. His heart feels heavy.

Harry looks up at the lilac sky, and the end of his climb looks too far away to bring him any sensation of hope. 

He stops moving, grasping the rocks tightly, and waits. 

He closes his eyes and inhales. The grey cloud is at his feet.

He wants to ask a question, but his voice is muffled by the forceful density of the smoke. He can't breathe, but his hand refuse to let go. Louis is nowhere to be seen or heard.

_Where do you go when you disappear, Louis?_


	8. The Edge

Harry blinks his eyes open, and he's gasping almost instantly. He scans the space desperately, his body thrashing, jolting awake, standing up from the ground that he's lying in. 

His vision is blurry, there's mist surrounding him.

"Louis!" He calls, but gets no response.

_Forward._

He walks, not minding the direction. He just needs to keep moving, pacing step after step in front of him. Maybe then, Louis will appear. 

He's searching everywhere, hawking the cloudy space around him, hunting for any signs of white clothing, tanned skin, and blue eyes.

He doesn't find it.

He screams, but keeps moving on. 

Harry realizes that he can breathe again, inhaling deeply, letting out another call of Louis' name every time. He fights the urge to cry, and doesn't stop walking.

Until, "Harry!"

Harry hears it and his heart immediately skips a beat. He's running now, more than he's ever done during this whole journey. He's sprinting towards the sound, not being able to see more than a few feet in front of him, lost amid the clear mist. 

Then, he stops.

His eyes find it.

Louis is there.

"Louis!" Harry approaches. The mist clears, and he sees the full picture.

Louis is standing on the edge of a cliff, their frames placed on top of the mountain. He gasps, taking in the view in front of them. The landscape, the nature, the purest form of beauty.

The sky is still purple, and the silence is predominant, deafening. 

"Harry," Louis whispers, not looking back.

The taller man approaches slowly, fearful of the absurd altitude, but the will to see Louis in his full glory speaks louder and stronger inside his heart. 

Harry swallows. "Louis-"

"Ask me a question?" The blue-eyed man says as soon as Harry reaches his side, only feet away from the edge of a great fall.

"Where do we go now, Louis?"

The wind is delicate, washing over their figures. Harry can't resist but watch the way Louis' features are brighter than it's ever been, clear, carved and _beaming_ underneath the sky's lilac tones. He looks like an angel, truly.

"You already know the answer to that, Harry."

_Forward._

_We have to fall._

"L-Louis," Harry stutters, imagining his way down. "I'm scared." He admits. 

"You don't need to be." The shorter man looks at him. There's nothing but adoration coating the unique blue in his orbs. "Think of us like the seashells."

An endless cycle, centuries and infinite strings of lives. Washed up on the shore, carried by the river, bathed by clouds and mist; taken over by salt, darkness and dew.

"Ask me a question, Louis."

"Take my hand?"

Louis lifts his hand. Harry takes it unhesitatingly.

It feels like comfort in its purest form. Soft, warm, safe. Harry sighs in the strong wild from the highest mountain on sight. The landscape in display witness the touch with lilac eyes.

"When I open my eyes again, will you be there?"

Harry looks at Louis.

He's got his eyes closed, hiding the magical blue away. His eyelashes are decorating his cheeks, his lips are pressed into a blessed grin, and his halo is showing, embracing his silhouette.

Harry has never seen the sun in the sky, because it was always right in front of him.

"I'll always be there, Harry."

Harry tightens his grip around Louis' hand. He breathes relieved, and closes his eyes.

They step _forward_ , once, twice, and then the ground disappears.

Falling feels like flying; freeing, surrounded by breeze, a silent scream of nature. 

In the darkness behind his eyelids, Harry sees the spark again.

The one like he saw in the sea, the one that's growing by the second, brighter and larger, until it swallows him whole, and the wind that surrounds their bodies ceases to exist.

He tightens his grip, and smiles when he feels nothing but seashells inside his hand.


	9. The Wakening

Harry jolts awake.

It's the opposite of delicate, the way his hands shake and his eyes open wide. His breathing is erratic, he's coughing, and there's something in his throat.

His legs feel weak, almost nonexistent, and his hips are heavy where it dips on top of a soft surface.

The place he wakes up in is bright, covered in white.

The light.

_Am I in Heaven?_

Then, a noise. A continuous beep, ringing on the side of his head. 

He glances aside, his vision blurry. His neck hurts to move, but he catches glimpse of what is causing the noise.

A heart monitor machine.

He looks down. There's wires and tubes connecting to his weak body, one large tube that's going down his throat. He begins to tear up, overwhelmed by the ambient.

_Where's Louis?_

The door opens. It's not Louis.

"Mr. Styles! I'm so glad you're awake." It's an unknown man, using white clothing, but it's not Louis.

He tries to speak, but nothing comes out. He coughs again.

"Sir, I'd like to ask you to calm down, I'll be answering all your questions after you're stable enough."

He thrashes his body on top of the hospital bed. He wants to cry.

_He doesn't want more questions._

_He wants Louis._

The unknown man - a doctor, he assumes - visibly panics at Harry's lack of collaboration, and immediately runs to where his IV is hanging, pulling out a syringe. 

"I'm sorry Mr. Styles, we'll have to sedate you. You'll be free of any retrains when you're awake again."

Harry closes his eyes again, tears falling down his temples. It's worst than the sand storms and the grey smoke.

But the only way is forward.


	10. Louis

_"A young man attempted to commit suicide by jumping in front of the train line in the middle of the night."_

Harry flutters his eyes open.

_The growing light._

"Harry?" 

_Louis._

"Harry, are you awake?" 

The voice is soft, so delicate and pleasantly high. It bounces off the white walls. It's a melody.

Harry opens his eyes, finally. His fingers twitch involuntarily. There's another warm touch on top of his digits, firm and yet, gentle and tender.

_"Fortunately, the 21 year-old man by the name of Harry Styles survives the attempt, and is now under intense care on the hospital. His condition is stable."_

There's another voice, muffled behind layers of white noise. It's a TV, hanging in front of his hospital bed. He swallows, no tubes on his throat. He glances down, no IV's connected.

A tanned, smaller hand is placed on top of his. 

He looks up.

Chestnut hair, carved features, thin lips.

_Blue eyes._

"Louis?" Harry manages to say. His voice is broken and rough. It's a contrast with the angelic voice that whispers above him.

Louis looks down at him. His eyes are filled with tears, he's grinning. He looks relieved and blessed. 

Harry wraps his fingers around the other man's hand, and squeezes. 

_Seashells._

Harry looks at the window, the sky is blue.

_"Luckily, another young man by the name of Louis Tomlinson was present in the station at that time, and managed to pull the suicidal man out of the way of the upcoming train, before he lost his consciousnesses."_

Their eyes meet again, the contact coated by tears and mist. 

_Ask me a question._

"How do you know my name?" Louis asks confused, although he's smiling immensely.

Harry can feel the river in his veins, the vines and the sand stuck in his bones. He can feel the waves of the ocean, washing over his chest, cold and unforgiving. 

But most importantly, he can feel Louis' hand in his.

"I think an angel told me."

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you for clicking in this story. I hope you enjoyed it.  
> Also, I'd like to ask you to leave a comment, as it is one of the most motivating parts of writing fanfiction. Thank you for your support in advance!


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